


So Many Broken Pieces

by InterstellarVagabond



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Despair, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarVagabond/pseuds/InterstellarVagabond
Summary: Three different stories from the three individuals who were haunted by Junko most of all: Fuyuhiko, Mikan, and Nagito. Each one seeing her ghost in a different way.TW for themes of sexual abuse, choking, hallucinations, drug use, and referenced gore, as well as overall despair imagery.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Tsumiki Mikan, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kamukura Izuru/Tsumiki Mikan, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Soda Kazuichi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	1. Guided by the Ghost

There was an explosion, and then smoke in the distance followed by the sound of faint cheering. 

"You totally called it, boss! They'd all holed up in that church!" A tattooed man holding a long range radio ran up to the large glass window where Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu was standing. "Guess next time someone doesn't wanna pay protection we can- hhk!"

He was cut off from a sound like wind rushing past his ear, and suddenly dropped the radio in fright as he stared down at the sword that stood mere centimeters from his throat.

"... course I was fucking right." Fuyuhiko may use the same angry words as he did in his youth, but now his voice was calm, scarily so. It always was when he was feeling despair this potently. 

He nodded at Peko, who sheathed her sword upon the unspoken order.

"You didn't doubt me, did ya?" Fuyuhiko asked, smirking down at the terrified man.

"N-no! Course not!" The man said hurriedly. "I just think it's amazing how you always seem to know what's going on, and what to do!"

Fuyuhiko ran a pair of fingers slowly over his eyepatch.

"... go help them clean out corpse pockets," he ordered, jerking his head towards the smoke visible from the window.

The man looked relieved, and made it about four steps to the door before Fuyuhiko snapped and with a slash too quick to see, Peko removed his ear.

Something about the pained cries made Fuyuhiko feel… better.

Couldn't hear the crying and screaming of those civilians holed up in the church from here, couldn't weigh their lives on his conscience or whatever still remained of it. 

He told himself it was the despair that made him love that sound, but sometimes the screaming made his throat tighten and grow warm like how it gets right before bursting into tears.

He walked past his victim, leaving the room.

"... hey, take off," he sighed at Peko when she obediently followed behind him. "I'm gonna go lay down. Don't need you there for that."

"But-"

"Seriously, fuck off!" He snapped, waving his hand dismissively.

Peko frowned and then bowed before making her exit.

Once in the safety of his room Fuyuhiko loosened his tie, groaned and stretched, and after a moment took off his eyepatch and set it aside on the nightstand.

He kept that eye closed until he was standing in front of the mirror. 

Then he opened it, the ice blue eye.

"Wow, so cranky with the help," a feminine voice snickered behind him, and in the mirror he saw a hand sporting red manicured nails come down on his shoulder in an overly friendly fashion.

"Go ahead, I wanna hear it." Junko gave his shoulder a squeeze, he'd stopped guessing at how he could feel that.

"What?" He huffed.

"Don't be coy!" Her nails dug into his skin. "I wanna hear a thank you! I mean, I did give you the tip on that church, and the idea to bomb the place."

"Thanks I guess." Fuyuhiko removed her hand and shrugged.

"Go ahead, act all aloof." She smirked, eyes following him as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Like your every victory hasn't been thanks to lil ol' me. And this." 

Junko ran her finger under the blue eye set in Fuyuhiko's head.

He glared at the floor.

"Look, you gonna give me some intel or what?" He asked.

"Calm down, munchkin. You just won, take a breather or something. Rome didn't burn in a day. Besides, I'm tired." She faked a pout. "Why don't you go visit your little boyfriend?" She suggested, making a gesture at her nose that implied drug use. "See if he died yet?"

Fuyuhiko, as always, took her advice.

He grabbed his eyepatch and put it back on, and Junko vanished from his field of vision. 

Of course, only her eye could see her ghost.

This section of the city was undoubtedly his.

He walked like a king through streets where people bowed or trembled at his passing. He had an empire, and it was all built on one little eyeball. 

By the time he reached a street where the people stopped recognizing and bowing he could smell his destination.

"Christ…" he sighed, eyeing up the junkyard that had long ago spilled out into the city as looting and pollution made it impossible to tell where the original piles of trash had started.

He held his scarf up over his nose as he waded, ducked, and balanced his way through to the auto shop that enjoyed the protection of this impromptu barricade.

"Hey!" He grabbed a nearby wrench and banged it on the hood of one of the decrepit cars sitting inside the garage. "You in here?"

It was silent for a moment, then he heard a quiet and exasperated groan, along with something that might have been "c'mon… what the fuck?" mumbled under someone's breath.

There was a car nearby with the doors ripped off, and that was the one Kazuichi appeared in as he swung his legs over and leaned out of the vehicle to fix Fuyuhiko in a glare.

"You look like shit," Fuyuhiko remarked, taking in the scrawny pale thing currently trying to test out the phrase "if looks could kill."

"Hey! I look fine!" Kazuichi huffed.

"Yeah, sure." Fuyuhiko rolled his eye. "You shower lately or is this smell you and not the garbage?"

"Not all of us get to live in big fancy castles and compounds or whatever, y'know?" Kazuichi lurched upright, swaying a bit as he walked over. "Some of us gotta stay here on the ground and get our hands dirty working for ya. I heard the explosion, I know you used those Monokumas I made for ya, do don't act all high and mighty like you don't take my help."

"... you high right now?" Fuyuhiko asked, giving Kazuichi a look that somehow managed to be both critical and… complicated.

"Please. Like I'm the only one here hallucinating lately," Kazuichi replied.

"That's not an answer, and she's  _ not _ a hallucination," Fuyuhiko growled.

"You used to be so smart, when did you get dumber than  _ me _ ? Huh? Ghosts aren't real, you're not getting psychic help from the dead, you've just got intuition and  _ issues _ ."

Fuyuhiko found himself slamming Kazuichi onto the hood of one of his cars, one hand furiously grabbing his shirt front, the other pulled back like he was going to hit him.

Kazuichi looked up at him wide eyed, and then smiled in something close to relief.

"So you believe it too… deep down. Otherwise you wouldn't be bothered."

"You're not some kinda shrink, stop acting like one." Fuyuhiko took a deep breath and tossed Kazuichi to the floor. It was way too easy to manhandle the guy these days. Did he have any fat left on his body at all? Or was it all bones and skin and gasoline?

"Why're you even here, man?" Kazuichi picked himself up and dusted himself off, looking away.

"... came to make sure you weren't dead. We still need your sorry ass."

"Well I'm here." Kazuichi waved his hands in a mock flourish.

They'd all changed under despair's influence, become twisted versions of themselves… Peko's blind obedience, Nekomaru's lack of faith in anyone but himself, the Imposter growing so attached to their masks they lost themselves in them, Fuyuhiko feeling so… empty, cruel instead of angry…

And Kazuichi. A crybaby who started treating the pain with drugs and ended up meaner and more alone than his former clingy idiot self would have liked. Fuyuhiko could still remember the days that Kazuichi would insist on talking his ear off about his crush or his projects, and now he looked like he just wanted Fuyuhiko to leave him alone, to go curl up and die somewhere.

It hurt in that good way.

He looked at Kazuichi, the man with his back turned to him, and raised his eyepatch.

"You could kill him so easily here…" Junko whispered in his ear. "He'd have trouble fighting you off in that shape, or easier and more fun, just hand him his own stash and let him keep taking more."

Fuyuhiko felt his stomach twist.

"Imagine it. Two territories all yours. Sure, he's a small fry, but once word gets around you killed one of your own they'll all  _ fear _ you. And why stop there?"

He felt her hands on his shoulders, tight as twin boa constrictors, her breath hot on his neck and ear. 

"The princess is getting a little too cozy, you have the manpower to get to her. What about that loose cannon gymnast? Kill them all, and you could be the king of the world's ashes!"

Her voice was ringing louder and louder in his ears, his heart pounding as he realized how  _ tempted  _ he was.

"You could reshape the world into whatever you want, and with none of these losers weighing you down." Her hands were on his chest now, stroking and wrinkling his suit jacket before moving up to cup his throat. "Kill him. Then Peko. Finally get some goddamn peace and quiet. Take the knife in your pocket and-"

Fuyuhiko cried out in surprise as a sudden pain sent his hand flying to the side.

"The fu- did you just  _ hit me _ ?" 

"You were strangling yourself!" Kazuichi pulled his hand back like he was going to slap Fuyuhiko again, and Fuyuhiko scrambled to catch it before it landed.

"Shit… you fucking lost it…" he dropped to the floor, searching desperately for his eye patch.

"S'right here, dude."

Fuyuhiko looked up. Kazuichi was slouched a bit and holding the eyepatch out to him. 

He took it and quickly put her eye away.

There was a moment of tense silence, as they both decided whether or not they were going to talk about what had just happened.

"... you never saw that," Fuyuhiko finally growled.

"Tch. Right." Kazuichi rolled his eyes and sat back down in the driver's seat of the car with no doors. 

"... it's not on," Fuyuhiko said, standing up and steadying himself somewhat. His heart was still pounding too hard for him to think straight.

"Huh?"

"Don't you like… like to turn it on and feel the engine or whatever?"

"... no engine in this one."

"Oh."

"..." Kazuichi rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, man. Just get outta here and get some sleep, okay? I get it. You need something that makes it all numb and make sense, even if it kills you. But if you're gonna have that going on… then you're not allowed to see me with my thing anymore."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It means get out so I can get high, I don't want you looking at me!"

Fuyuhiko frowned, face twisting into a glare before relaxing. "... you're such a fucking coward. You get scared at how I've accomplished all this, and suddenly you don't wanna be vulnerable in front of me? What, think I kill ya?"

"... no." Kazuichi's sharp teeth were visible even as he frowned. "... didn't like seeing you in pain and out of it. Thought you might feel the same about me. But fuck it, stay and kill me if that's what you want, not like I care."

Kazuichi leaned back in his seat and kicked open the glove compartment, revealing his stash of paraphernalia.

Fuyuhiko watched uncomfortably as he went through the motions like he didn't have an audience. 

He sat down, resting his back against a tire. 

"You're not going?"

"Fuck that."

"Pfft."

Fuyuhiko closed his eye, finding he was getting used to the smell after all. And without Junko whispering in his ear, he could even enjoy some quiet as he supervised Kazuichi's pain the way he'd supervised his.

  
  



	2. A Body All My Own

Mikan hummed as she readied the room: fluffing pillows, scattering rose petals, lighting candles. It was all so beautiful and shining, a room filled with soft pinks and reds, and a large comfy bed in the middle of it all.

She wondered nervously for a moment if she should have worn something special, made herself look as nice as the room, but then she shook her head. If she looked bad, her beloved would just find happiness in making fun of her!

Though, deep down, she wanted to believe she never looked bad in Junko's eyes.

Those pretty blue eyes… Fuyuhiko had taken one of those, and Mikan had helped him put it in the right way. 

She so enjoyed being useful.

Mikan heard the door open and gasped, hurrying to the bed and sitting down with her legs to the side. 

"Oof, you would not believe the day I've had." Junko opened the door, pigtails bouncing she walked in. "I need some stress relief, big time."

Mikan gasped happily, clutching her hands to her chest. Tonight was the night, she'd finally be in her beloved's arms again.

"Well, hellooooo nurse." Junko smirked. "Just what I needed."

"I-I am?" Mikan beamed.

"Well of course, silly, why else would I be here?" The smirk stayed in place even as her words grew soft, almost caring.

Mikan moved out of the way as Junko got into bed, sitting down and giving Mikan a playful look. She started playing with Mikan's hair, just lightly toying with it. 

"D-do you want to use me as a footrest? Or g-get out your aggression on me?" Mikan asked, remembering their past dates.

"No." Junko traced Mikan's lips with one finger. "I just wanna be with you, darling. Isn't that obvious? I mean, you  _ really _ impressed me. You really would do anything just to see me, hm?" Junko lay a hand over the still somewhat tender area on Mikan's stomach, and Mikan gasped.

"How sweet… I love a good stalker," Junko pulled Mikan closer, rising up to her knees so she could better hold Mikan in place as her hands wandered her body.

Mikan was no stranger to her body being treated like something that didn't belong to her. 

Far before she met Junko, there had been other hands that moved just like this across her breasts and thighs, touches that went deeper then she'd been ready for. It always made her heart pound and her stomach twist when someone touched her now, like the feeling of standing on the edge of a high cliff. Only instead of jumping one of two other things would happen.

Either she'd cry and tremble and feel so terribly small.

Or she'd go numb and dizzy and stop feeling the hands on her body, because she was barely even in it anymore.

But for Junko, her beloved? She stayed in her body, and she didn't cry. Even as her stomach twisted and her mind cried out:  _ no! No! No! _

She just smiled as Junko unbuttoned her uniform.

"I-I missed you so much…" Mikan's voice shook.

"Of course you did, sweetheart," Junko said, sounding only mildly amused. "Without me… what good are you?"

Mikan felt Junko's hands: one on her throat and pushing her chin up, the other sliding between her thighs. 

"Y-yes, I'm nothing without you…"

"You don't have to tell me that, darling, I know." 

Mikan was really trembling now, and she felt hot… but also somewhat cold. Maybe if she hadn't been distracted by the burning kisses Junko was pressing to her neck, if she hadn't been in despair, maybe if she didn't have a foreign organ rotting inside of her, she would have recognized the signs of organ failure, fever, and hallucinations.

She was dying, and Junko was taking her sweet time playing with her while it happened.

Luckily, Mikan wasn't the only remnant holed up in the hotel that night.

Izuru heard gasping and wheezing as he moved like a shadow down the hall. His eyes scanned the area, eternally disappointed in what he saw.

No, not even disappointed. He expected things to be boring so he had no hopes to get up. 

The door to the room was already open a crack, so Izuru slowly pushed it open and peered inside.

Like all the other rooms in the building it was trashed. 

A hole in the wall letting in cold, polluted air, trash littering the floor, exposed wiring and pipes, and a bare mattress upon which Mikan Tsumiki was laying.

Izuru walked over and felt her forehead and cheeks, his thin stern line of a mouth turning ever so slightly downwards.

When Junko was still alive, Mikan despised him.

After all, Junko was obsessed with the possibilities Izuru offered. He became her favorite new puppet, and Mikan became little more than a decoration. Izuru had always found that to be a miscalculation (though perhaps it was on purpose, Junko did enjoy when her plans failed) because Mikan was not a decoration.

She was a weapon.

Every moment of every day they'd been in the same place she'd hunt him.

She tried to kill him so she could take his place in Junko's "heart." Syringes were pried from furious hands, scalpels knocked aside, poison in his food and drink (he sometimes drank it anyway just to see what would happen), samples of deadly viruses left where he might accidentally break their container. 

It had been… almost fun. Their game.

So, Izuru picked Mikan up. 

She was limp in his arms, head lolled back as he carried her from the room.

Mikan was unaware of the change in her surroundings, all she knew was Junko taking what she desired and leaving nothing left for Mikan.

"After this, you'll come back and sit in my lap again, won't you?" Junko whispered in her ear.

"Yes…" Mikan breathed. "Anything you want…"

"Oh, and Mikan?"

"Yes?"

"I forgive you… for letting me die, stealing my pieces, and ending up such a failure."

Mikan sobbed with pleasure.

In reality the sound came out as a quiet choking sound. Still, it inspired no urgency in Izuru's movements. He already knew the odds of her living or dying under his care, and there was no need to rush things…

When Mikan woke she jolted upright, gasping for air, and immediately cried out in pain, doubling over and laying back down.

There was a fuzzy warmth in her head that told her the pain could have been much worse… someone had given her painkillers. 

"I took it out."

Ah. That someone.

Mikan opened her eyes and glared at the shadowy tangle standing across from her bed.

"Y-you give it back… right now," she threatened in a quiet voice.

"No," Izuru said. 

"It's not yours! She's not yours! I'm hers, you hear me? She wants me! Not you! Me!"

"Is she yours?"

"H-huh…?" Mikan paused, watching as so much hair shifted at Izuru tilting his head to the side.

"Is she yours?" He repeated. "You told me "she's not yours" and then you said "I'm hers." Those statements have… differences."

"I'm okay being her possession, whatever she wants to do to m-"

Izuru sighed heavily, and the sound made her silent.

"So boring…" he muttered. 

Then he moved to her side. 

Mikan pulled away suspiciously, but all Izuru did was arrange a few items on the nightstand: two bottles of pills, a bottled water (sealed, purified, rare), and some food (cold, sitting out, still edible.)

"If you want it back, you can come kill me," he said. "Make me tell you what I did with it. But that would be a waste of your time. The virus you perfected could be killing thousands. Instead you only try to kill yourself." 

"I loved her… I wanted… I wanted to carry her with me, be useful, maybe give Monaca a little si-"

"Stop talking about that," Izuru said. "After looting a body, you should know how easily they can become objects."

Mikan's eyes were drawn to the scar on Izuru's forehead. She suddenly had the urge to touch it.

So… she did.

She took Izuru's wrist and pulled him closer, tugged on his tie to make him bend down, and then ran her fingers over it. After awhile that didn't satisfy her, so she cupped his face in her hands, and when she did she met his gaze.

It was an emotionless one, but it was not empty. His eyes were full of…

Acceptance.

Or maybe something more like surrender.

"O-oh…" she realized. "You're like me…"

"My body has been an object since the day I was created," Izuru said. "Belonging to everyone but me. I was an investment."

"I-I always thought you enjoyed it when she touched you…" Mikan whispered.

"It was what she wanted to do." He shrugged. 

Mikan stared into his eyes for a long time, and he stared back unbothered, his hands tucked behind his back and his hair forming curtains around his face.

She pulled his face closer and pressed an experimental kiss to his lips.

They both felt cold. Not stiff, but not pliable either. Neither of them moved to deepen the kiss, neither of them closed their eyes.

They both just did what was happening to them.

What always happened to them.

And then all at once they didn't.

Both their eyes closed as their lips parted, and Izuru's hands moved up to mirror how Mikan was holding his face.

It lasted maybe five seconds, but in those five seconds they both felt like they'd made the choice to do that.

Mikan pulled away and giggled at how Izuru's face still looked bored and unaffected.

"Was I your first kiss?" She asked, the hidden question being: did  _ She _ ever kiss you?

"How would I know?" Izuru lazily wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

"Are you going to stay?"

"No."

"Do you want to stay?"

"No."

"Will I see you again?"

"..."

Mikan watched as Izuru straightened his tie and walked slowly to the door. She almost felt like she should wave him goodbye, silly as that would have been.

He vanished into the darkness past the door, and Mikan lay back down to feel the emptiness inside her, slowly being filled by the knowledge that she was capable of action.


	3. Reflecting

He imagined he could feel the cold mirror underneath the dead hand, even though there was no way that was possible.

He stared at his reflection, which looked all the more gaunt and pale thanks to the darkness of the room. The only light came from between closed blinds that blocked a small window near the ceiling.

His luck had run out. The hand that he'd cared for for such a long time had finally begun to rot, and just in time for him to wake up and be aware of it.

"I've done this once before…" Nagito ran a finger over the blade of the bone saw. "How hard could it be a second time?"

This time he wouldn't even be breaking through his own flesh and bone, not really. In fact, he didn't even know if he'd feel it. Although the thick stitches were still visible in his skin, there was no way of telling if his skin had healed into  _ hers _ .

It was a ghastly thought, and exactly the kind he'd entertained when he first did this.

While rare, there have been times when a person lost a limb and doctors sewed it back onto a random part of their body to simply keep it alive long enough to really fix the problem. 

And that's what he'd done! He used his body to keep her alive long enough to eradicate her and her despair from the face of the planet. Or… that was the plan anyway.

Things had been so confusing back then. He loved and hated her so much that somedays he'd place her hand against his cheek and thank her for the chance to become despair so he could have a major role in prompting hope to rise up against him. 

"So, you're really going for it, huh?" 

He expected the whisper in his ear. Even before he was hypnotized to the exact opposite of his beliefs his brain had been… less than ideal. Now it was like a frayed wire that had to be held a certain way to work. One trapped inside a machine he couldn't crack open, impossible to reach.

He laughed humorlessly as he stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm sure you'll be very entertained. Which is precisely why you can't watch."

"Hey, it's my hand." Junko waved a cartoonishly clean stump at him. "Did you at least get some use out of it before it started melting? And if you say you gave yourself a handy with it I'll seriously barf."

"I'm not going to start until you go away, so you may as well just go," Nagito explained, a false cheerfulness in his tone. "I'm not going to perform for the likes of you. Even someone as low as me has standards."

"So if I stayed forever, you'd just let my hand rot down to the bone on your own body?" Junko asked, voice deep and throaty, eyes narrowing with interest. "And you're already so fun to be around, that smell will only make you more popular."

"This is really inconvenient, seriously, I can't believe my bad luck." Nagito sat down on the edge of the bathtub and sighed. "I really have to wait for you to go away, huh?"

"Or you could be a man and get rid of me yourself!" She suggested with a fanged grin.

"Jeez…" Nagito sat and waited, and all the while Junko was there. She leaned back against the wall and watched him in silence, speaking up now and then only to try and goad him into it. 

"Ugh, my hand will die of old age before it ever gets cut off," Junko complained. "Hey, question, if it's my hand but your body, is the wrist still limp?"

Nagito ignored her, sliding down into the tub so he could lay down and close his eyes.

Junko was quiet for so long after that he wondered if she'd gone.

So he opened his eyes.

And there she was inches from his face, her hand on his throat. She smiled and pushed down.

Nagito gasped, feeling his windpipe close as Junko pushed her hand down harder and harder. Even back on her body it was too rotted to close around his throat, so she just pushed flat palmed.

She must have turned on the tub too, because now Nagito felt water swelling up around him. It was in his mouth, his nose, filling up his lungs. The water turned warm and thick, and as he thrashed for freedom he realized it wasn't water anymore, it was blood.

As his vision was going dark all he could make out was Junko's smirk, a Cheshire cat's smile in the darkness of his death in progress.

Then somebody turned on the lights.

"Fuck, Nagito." Hajime hurried over to pull Nagito up into a seated position. "Deep breaths, come on. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

"I am not having a panic attack, Hajime Hinata, and if I was I wouldn't need you to talk me through it," Nagito gasped for breath and spoke defensively.

"Yeah, okay, sure. Do it anyway," Hajime sighed, and when Nagito saw the concern in his eyes he went along with it.

Eventually his breathing steadied. He wasn't being suffocated or choked, he could breath.

And the hand was still attached to him.

Hajime took in the scene: the bone saw, disinfectant, rags, bandages, everything but painkillers of course. His brow furrowed, and Nagito could just see the thoughts and deductions moving around in his head.

"Nagito you… I was going to remove that for you," he said. "Mikan and I. Kazuichi and I worked on a prosthetic while you were still comatose, we had a plan."

"What?" Nagito blinked in disbelief at hearing so many people had wanted to help him. 

"You didn't think we were just going to leave you to figure this out on your own, did you?" Hajime brushed some hair tenderly away from Nagito's face.

"That's… the gist of what I believed, I guess…"

"Of course."

Nagito actually blushed at Hajime  _ chuckling  _ and saying "of course" like he was some joke that Hajime had heard a hundred times before. Still, the care in his eyes… 

"When can you remove it?" Nagito asked quietly.

"Tomorrow, if you're ready," Hajime answered. 

"Such a long wait…" Nagito laughed weakly and tucked the hand against his middle and under his coat. 

"I know. But we'll remove it, promise."

"..." Nagito extended the dead hand with a slightly unhinged smirk. "Pinkie promise?"

"You. Are. Disgusting," Hajime replied, taking Nagito's good hand and pinkie promising with it instead.


End file.
